


When You've Done All You Can Do

by Bus_Kids_Burgade (Inthemorninglight)



Series: I Won't Let Go [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4722 au, Depression, Gen, Kid Fic, PTSD Jemma, post 3x02, ptsd cody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthemorninglight/pseuds/Bus_Kids_Burgade
Summary: Cody has a hard time adjusting to Earth and Jemma, struggling with her own readjustment, has a hard time helping him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Cody AU in which instead of Will, Jemma finds his nine-year-old son on alone on Maveth and brings him back with her.

Cody hates it here. He hates the lights that pop on with no warning, loud and bright and angry, and crack open his eyelids when he’s trying to sleep. He hates the way the ground sucks him down every time he tries to stand up, makes everything spin, keeps him even from being able to walk by himself. (He used to be able to run and run and climb and roll.) He hates how loud everything is and how it makes his heart pound, how he doesn’t know what’s a monster and what isn’t. 

 

There is nothing to eat here but weird things that tie his stomach in knots and half the time make him sick, nothing to drink but water that taste like metal. They take his clothes away, the ones his mother made for him, sewed name tags on the inside so Will Daniels and Laurie Austin loop in cursive right above his heart. Jemma says they’re only disinfecting them, but when he gets them back they smell wrong and sharp and toxic. (He has to wear clothes that are too tight and scratchy and at first leave blotchy rashes all over his skin, and most of them look stupid, he thinks.)

 

Every day is strange and everything familiar is gone. Just gone. The computers. The cot his mother used to rock him to sleep in. His pet rocks. Dented cup. Wobbly spoon. His parents’ writing and drawings on the walls. Everything. 

 

And there are always  _ people  _ here. People in suits (like It, but Jemma says they are not). And even when they take the suits off, they stick him with needles and suck out his blood and make him choke down pills and gross potions. Jemma says it’s so he doesn’t get sick and tries to explain, but he doesn’t want to listen anymore. For the first time in his life he doesn’t care about why.

 

And they never leave, the people. Especially Fitz and Bobbi. 

 

He didn’t mind at first because he was mostly asleep, but now he is awake and they are always getting in the way. He doesn’t want them around, taking Jemma’s attention, looking at him, talking to him, being something he must watch, always, out of the corners of his eyes just in case they’re dangerous. 

 

He cannot connect these people with the people Jemma talked about during the storms. Those people were stories, these people are real and unknown and even though Jemma says It is gone, Cody doesn’t know how many other Its are out there. Any one of them could be an It.

 

The only thing he likes here is under the bed, which is safe from the lights and is only for him and sometimes Jemma when she needs it. He keeps his real clothes hidden here with his luckiest pet rock Smee who came to see the sunrise with him and his best sharp stick and the Captain America teddy bear Coulson brought for him. 

 

(There is a small army of other toys and games shoved as deep into the closet as they will go. So far, the teddy bear is the only one he likes.) 

Jemma tries all the time to get him to leave the room. In the wheelchair Bobbi brings because neither of them are very good at walking here or riding like a giant on Mack’s back or sliding on their bellies like snakes, but he won’t. Just to the kitchen she tries. Just down the hall. Just outside the door. 

 

He goes under the bed, and she goes nowhere. 

 

Sometimes, when they’re left alone, they make it like home. They turn the lights down low with a magic wand. (it’s not magic, Jemma says, it’s called a remote and she draws a diagram of radio signals. Not on the wall because they’re not allowed to do that here, but on paper that she sticks up on the wall which is almost as good.) They lay on the floor because it’s better than the too-soft bed and he cuddles into her side, rolling and tugging at her and curling up again in her arms as they take turns doing math problems or spelling or playing How It Works. 

 

“You know, you could see what molten lava looks like with your own eyes,” Jemma says one time after he gets done explaining to her how volcanoes work. 

 

Cody pulls her arm out from under his head and drops it over his face instead. “Why?” 

 

“Because it’s real,” she says as though that’s a good reason. “There’re loads of real volcanoes all over the world. You could climb one if you wanted -” 

 

“I don’t want to.” He presses her arm harder against his eyes until stars spark to life beneath his eyelids. “I can tell you how photosynthesis works.” 

 

“Can you tell me what a maple leaf looks like?” 

 

“Six CO2 plus six H2O -” 

 

“What are the best trees for climbing?” 

 

“That’s not the game.”

 

“Let’s pause the game for a minute,” she props herself up on her elbow to look down at him. “Don’t you want to see how pretty an apple blossom is? Or smell a pine forest? Or jump into a pile of fall leaves? They’re not just formulas and chemistry and diagrams, Cody, they’re real things -” 

 

“I don’t want to play anymore.” 

 

“We’re not playing right now. There’s so much outside this room you’ve never seen before, so many amazing things. Sunlight - we never got to see the sunrise. We could go right now. We could go upstairs and sit in the sunlight.”

 

There’s a hunger in her voice, a longing big and intense that he doesn’t like. He feels like someone is pressing a boulder down on his chest. He rolls away from her and curls up like a turtle pulling into its shell. 

There’s quiet for awhile and the next time she speaks it’s gentle, deflated. “Don’t you want to see more than this room?”

 

He presses his lips hard together. 

 

Her breath comes out in a heavy gust. He feels her slide toward him, her warmth at his back again. Her hand rubs up and down his arm until it’s easier to breathe. 

 

…

 

“You’ve got to get out of this room.” 

 

Fitz is here again. Cody does not come out to say hello even though Jemma asks. 

 

“I’m too tired to go anywhere.” 

 

“You don’t even have to walk. Just a change of scenery, some fresh air.” 

 

“Fitz…”

 

“There’s a documentary about the Amazonian Basin on tonight. We could do a proper movie night like at the Academy.” 

 

Laying on his back, Cody climbs his sock feet up the underside of the bedsprings until they’re almost over his head, until he’s all bent up and he can feel his heartbeat in his lips.  

 

“I can’t.” 

 

“Jemma, you need sensory stimuli - both of you -”

 

“I  _ can’t _ , Fitz.” 

 

…

 

“Don’t,” Jemma says, stopping Bobbi just before she pulls up the bed skirt. 

 

Cody lets out his breath in a slow stream, his racing pulse slowing a little. He hugs bear Cap tighter to his chest and eases his grip on his sharp stick. He wasn’t going to use it, probably. Jemma said she’d take it away if he pointed it at anyone, which is stupid because that’s what it was made for, and what good is it if he can’t use it when people are trying to stab him? But he doesn’t want it taken away. 

 

“I’ll give it to him later,” Jemma says, which he doesn’t like so much, but later is better than now and Jemma is better than Bobbi. 

 

“Alright, deal, but only if you tell me you tried some actual food today.” 

 

“Mack brought us oatmeal.”

 

“And did you eat it?” 

 

The sheets rustle. “Some.” 

 

“Did you keep it down?” 

 

“Barely.” 

 

“I know it sucks, but the only way to get your body readjusted is with real food; nutritional supplements can only get you so far. I’m going to have to put a feeding tube in if you don’t start eating. Hey - hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” 

 

A soft sniff brings Cody’s head up a little, lip catching anxiously between his teeth. 

 

The bedsprings creak. “Jemma? Please talk to me.” A sigh. “I don’t want to have to stick tubes down your throat, but I’m not going to let you starve.”

 

“It’s - I’m fine.” 

 

But she is not fine. Her voice has gone choked. 

 

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard you tell.” 

 

There is a half-strangled sob and Cody starts edging toward the lip of the bed. He’s not letting anyone stick tubes down Jemma’s throat or make her cry. But before he gets there a loud buzzing makes both him and Jemma jump and startle back.

 

“I’m sorry - sorry. It’s Coulson -”

 

“You’d better take it.” 

 

“I’ll be back as soon as I finish whatever he wants.” 

 

“It’s fine.” 

 

“Hey - we’re not finished here, girlie. I’ll see you later.”

...

 

“I cannot believe you’re here.” 

 

“Skye! - Daisy - sorry.”

 

“It’s a multipurpose gift. Pretty and a reminder…. You can call me whatever you want.”

 

It’s a strange voice he’s never heard before. But he knows the name. Skye makes mountains crumble. The springs shriek above his head. 

 

“I can’t stay long - I’m tracking law enforcement channels, but - I am  _ really  _ sorry I haven’t come sooner. It’s just… a lot… going on.” 

 

“And we haven’t been up for visitors.” 

 

“Crap - I didn’t - Fitz said it would be okay, but I can go - “

 

“No - no, it’s fine. Please stay.” 

 

“Where is the kid, anyway?” 

 

“He’s - just not used to so many people. Or any people, actually. But he’s adjusting.” 

 

“And what about you? Are you adjusting?” There is quiet before Skye-Daisy talks again. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it… but when you are I’m here for whatever -” 

 

“Right now I’d rather listen.” 

 

…

 

“Hang on - hang on, Monkey - “

 

Cody whines, rubbing a knuckle into his burning eyes until he sees stars. He can barely breathe for sneezing. He is a miserable, wheezing ball in the middle of the bed. 

 

Through tears he sees Jemma stuff the array of cheerful yellow flowers into the waste basket and tie the plastic liner as tight as she can. Then she shoves it out the door and comes back to join him, pulling him into her lap. 

 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that. Of course you’re allergic, you’ve never been exposed to pollen.” 

 

“I don’t like it,” he rasps and coughs against her collarbone.

 

“I know, but they’re gone. The daisies are gone. It’ll go away soon.” 

 

“I don’t like it _here_.” 

 

She presses a kiss to the crown of his head and lays a cool washcloth over his swollen eyes and doesn’t say anything else.

 

…

 

In the dark he pretends he doesn’t hear her crying because she thinks he’s asleep and because the sound hollows out a pit in his stomach and he wants her to stop. In the light he pretends he doesn’t notice her eyes open and looking through him and everything else like that Time because she is home and that was supposed to make her better and he is mad that it didn’t. 

 

....

 

He is tired of everything, tired of everything, and he wants them to go away. 

 

“Cody, it’s alright, you’re alright.” 

 

But it is  _ not  _ alright and he kicks and kicks at the wall and there aren’t really words, only howling. He tears at the drawings on the walls until they’re shreds, and yanks at the sheets hanging off the bed. 

 

“Take a deep breath with me, okay?” 

 

His scrabbling hands find something solid - the remote - and he throws it hard at Bobbi, but she smacks it nimbly out of the air. He screeches in frustration and beats the heel of his hand against the cement floor until it stings. 

 

“Hey -  I need you to calm down.” 

 

Fitz’s hands are under his shoulders, trying to make him sit up, and he scratches and twists and hits and doesn’t care that he’s being bad, he just wants them to  _ go away _ ,  _ go away, go away -  _

 

“Out!” 

 

“Jemma -”

 

“You need to go.” 

 

She’s pushing them toward the door, shaking her head against their objections, staggering with the effort. 

 

“Go. There’s too many people, get out, get out!” 

 

She falls against the door, closing it with a snap, and on that noise her shouting and his howling cut off abruptly. There’s another click that’s the lock and her breathing is heavy as she presses her forehead to the door. They are alone now. 

 

When she finally turns around he’s kneeling in the shredded paper and tangled blankets, watching. 

 

“Are you happy now?” But she says it with edges. 

 

They stare at each other across the room and the quiet isn’t soothing. It sticks under his skin like slivers. Then she looks away, stumbles back to the bed and drops, curls up even though the sheets are in a heap on the floor. 

 

It’s like he swallowed a stone and it sits heavy and cold and jagged in his gut and he doesn’t know exactly why.  He crawls around the end of the bed to be on her side, wanting to burrow into her, make everything okay again and have her warmth melt away the sting of her words, but she pushes his hands away. 

 

She props herself up and Cody slides to the floor. 

 

“What do you want from me?” She demands, soft and brittle. Her hair is half out of its ponytail and her expression is haggard. “I have  _ nothing  _ left for you. You’ve taken it - you’ve taken everything I have and there’s nothing left for either one of us.  _ There’s nothing here _ .”

 

The last words are a plea, wringing themselves in some kind of desperation, and she looks at him as if waiting for an answer but he has nothing. 

 

Jemma’s elbow buckles, and suddenly the very air is too heavy to hold up. She rolls away from him and pulls a pillow over her head. She can hear the high whine start up in the back of his throat, a kind of keening whimper that goes on and on, and she knows she needs to respond to it, knows she needs to move, do something, but she  _ can’t _ . Her limbs are leaden and it is a long time before she can do anything at all. 

 

Her insides feel like the damp, charred remains of a doused firework. She pushes herself up, finds the floor with one foot then the other and lowers herself beside him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” it is a whispered tide on her lips, and at first he bats her hands away and she hugs her knees and murmurs it to her fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His whine turns into a sob, and he doesn’t fight this time when she reaches for him, climbs into her lap like that first dust storm and clings with all the might in his small body, and she clings back and rocks them both, still saying it, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

 

When he’s cried himself out and her limbs are stiff and her throat sore, she slumps against the bed with a deep exhale. Her lips press into the crook of his neck and her palm smoothes up and down his back. 

 

“We need to do better, don’t we?” she says and he nods against her shoulder. 

 

She shuffles him around so that she can see his face, brushes the hair out of his eyes. 

 

“You took care of me on your planet, and I’m going to take care of you here.” It’s a promise. “But it can’t always be me. I can’t do it by myself. I can’t -” a breath. “I can’t live my entire life alone in this room. We’ve got to compromise somewhere.” 

 

He looks at her, sucking on his lower lip.

 

“What if sometimes I went to the kitchen or the common room and someone else stayed here with you?”

 

His arms tighten around her neck and he shakes his head. 

 

“Listen, we were strangers when we first met, weren’t we? But you trust me now. It took some time, that’s all. You’ve just got to give them a chance.” 

 

He chews on his lip, thinking. “Maybe….”

 

“Maybe we start by not hiding when we have visitors?” 

 

“Maybe. And maybe… maybe I could try going outside the door. Just a little.” 

 

She can’t help the smile that spreads so wide it makes her cheeks hurt. “I think that’s a good idea.” 

 

“But sometimes it can just be us, right?” 

 

“Yes, of course it can. Sometimes.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

He settles against her collarbone, but then wriggles around to look at her again. 

 

“And if, maybe, a long long time from now, I change my mind about seeing lava rocks…?”

 

“We will find lava rocks. A whole bucket load of them.”  

 

… 

 

“Are you ready?” Jemma asks. 

 

Cody’s never been up here. He’s been all around downstairs now, though, so it isn’t scary. Not for him, anyway. Jemma looks kind of scared though, so he pulls her arms around his middle and leans back against her while they wait. 

 

“Windows are weird,” he says, pressing his palm against the smooth, icy glass. “They’re there and they’re not. And they’re made of sand. What if the sun exploded, do you think all the sand on Maveth would turn to glass?” 

 

“I think the whole planet would be dust.” 

 

“Not if it was far enough away. What if there were mountains of glass? What if the dust storms were glass storms?” Jemma doesn’t say anything so he tips his head back to look up at her. “Are  _ you  _ ready?” 

 

She takes a deep breath. “Ready or not, here it comes.”

 

Cody looks back at the window and the blurry darkness beyond. Jemma’s arms tighten around his waist. 

 

A line of gold edges its way over the horizon. 

 


End file.
